


Pretty Inadequate

by SinNotAlone



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Play, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation Lessons, Small Penis Kink, circumcision discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7633315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren helps Hux enjoy feeling small. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Hux knows he is nearly average, just shy of five inches. His girth can be approximated by two index fingers on a reasonably sized adult male. When he fists his cock, his thumb doesn’t overlap excessively; he makes a perfectly adequate handful. There is no reason Hux needs to rely on dim light and conveniently placed bedclothes to hide himself.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Inadequate

**Author's Note:**

> After my [weird rant](http://kegareta.tumblr.com/post/147115277581/can-i-remind-you-small-dick-hux) about small penis Hux, I needed to write a fic detailing my personal headcanon. Thanks to [Cormallen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/) and [Artyaourter](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/) for listening to me whine about this.

A white shock of adrenaline races from Hux’s stomach to the back of his throat. He scrambles, breathless, to get under the sheets. Before Kylo returns from the refresher, he manages to smooth the rumpled blanket over his hips, school his face into nonchalance. The sheets are uneven beneath him, and a little crease irritates the delicate skin on the back of his knee. A dozen heartbeats intersperse his carefully measured breaths. He feels the slight giddiness of one who catches the glass just before it shatters on the floor.

Hux knows he is nearly average, just shy of five inches. His girth can be approximated by two index fingers on a reasonably sized adult male. When he fists his cock, his thumb doesn’t overlap excessively; he makes a perfectly adequate handful. There is no reason Hux needs to rely on dim light and conveniently placed bedclothes to hide himself.

* * *

It was Hux’s misfortune to have been exposed to several handsomely endowed males at an impressionable age. Not young enough to properly shape his understanding of how he fit within the hierarchy of male anatomy, but old enough for him to realize the importance of coming up short. The close quarters at the academy led to him observing roommates who provided a harrowing point of comparison. That boy he spent his first year sleeping mere feet from, Hux can’t even recall his name at this point. He didn’t warrant remembrance. After all, he’d been so obviously inferior to Hux in every way, except for the one appendage that Hux will never forget.

Hux hadn’t been attracted to the beastly boy. His habit of leaving little wads of paper strewn across every horizontal surface triggered more than one passive aggressive garbage war. His frequent mouth breathing made Hux want to squeeze until that wheezing stopped. Even now, the sound of a labored pant from five yards distant makes Hux shudder. The fact that their cohabitation ended without his slack jawed face crushed in the trash compactor was a true testament to Hux’s self-restraint. 

Despite his repulsiveness, this boy had possessed a single flaw that worked in his favor—an utter lack of shame regarding his body. Hux questioned whatever upbringing led to his practice of disrobing without turning his back to the room, but he thanked it as well.

Over that first year, Hux had perfected the method for facing straight ahead, as if intently focused on a book, or pen, or pocketknife, but allowing his eyes to wander. Sometimes, when the boy returned from the refresher and dropped his damp towel, his cock was still partially hard. Softly flopping against his thigh, he was intimidating; partially swollen, he was monstrous. The first time Hux caught a glance of him at half-mast, he bit his tongue to stifle on outburst.

It was vulgar really, that anyone should be that large.

Prior to joining the academy, Hux hadn’t had the opportunity to compare himself to boys his age, or even members of the male sex in general. His primary companion throughout childhood had been a series of nannies. Middle-aged women who tried to teach him modesty, chastity. Most quit or were fired within a year, unable or unwilling to live up to Brendol Hux’s exacting standard of care.

Hux’s father certainly provided no help. When Hux turned thirteen, he received a book intended for boys of a more prepubescent age, complete with illustrated diagrams rather than real photos. Medical cross sections and strange, featureless bodies informed Hux of stages of development he had already entered. Further exhortations warned about the dangers of accidental self-stimulation while carrying out proper hygienic routines.

On the infrequent occasions when his father did spend time with his son, he never let him forget how disappointed he was that he took after his waifish mother. Hux had been bold enough to inherit his father’s ginger complexion, which compounded the impression that he was simply a failed version of him. What his father had found alluring about the base kitchen woman who whelped his only son, he found repulsive in his own flesh—a pathetic reminder of his moral blunder.

Consequently, it wasn’t until the age of fourteen that Hux was able to closely compare his body to that of his peers. After the initial incident of exposure and his startling realization that penises could grow to that size, Hux grew increasingly cautious regarding his own body. Paranoid of exposing his inadequacy, Hux began to rise early to dress. It was a happy accident that this practice ensured he was already seated at his desk, feigning focus on the work in front of him, by the time his roommate scavenged for underpants, bleary eyed and shameless.

As Hux participated in more physical activities that necessitated shared facilities, he gained a better understanding of where his body fell within the hierarchy. The rare times he spied a boy smaller than himself, he felt a ping of satisfaction. This moment of glee was immediately followed by a wash of shame. He knew that all the other boys felt this same smug superiority when they viewed his own body.

Instead of being repulsed by this shame and pushing it quickly from his mind, Hux allowed it to linger. He toyed with the idea that one of these boys might someday verbally acknowledge his inferiority. He wondered what that would be like. Would they laugh as Hux tried to cover himself in an attempt to hide from further ridicule? Would they pass rumors along to his classmates, until every boy in his year smirked when he walked into the changing room?

Dread warred with an unforeseen spark of anticipation as Hux considered this scenario. The heat that had been ignited by embarrassment was now fed by arousal.  

The first time he came to the thought of jeers from his contemporaries, Hux didn’t acknowledge that it might be problematic. He hadn’t made a practice of masturbating, and getting the privacy to indulge in it at the academy was rare. Hux grew more concerned the fourth time he found himself coating the shower wall to fantasies of his sparring partner pinning him down, exposing him, mocking him before the whole class.

By the time he moved on to his second roommate, Hux had constructed an elaborate catalog of fantasies, all variations on a theme. This roommate was less stellar in his endowment than the first, though he was still larger than Hux, of course. He was thickly set, with muscular thighs and broad chest, and his cock mimicked the rest of his body, girthy but not particularly long. It took but a single week of cohabitation before became the star of Hux’s masturbatory scenarios.

Hux imagined those strong legs on either side of his chest, weighing him down as he was forced to encounter on close terms a penis far more adequate than his own. This boy probably wouldn’t even touch Hux’s cock, believing something so pitiful was better left ignored.

Hux grew less cautious with his stolen glances than he had been that first year. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from an exposed forearm, bulky in a way that he would never be able to achieve with his own body. An unclothed midriff, wider than Hux’s own shoulders, set him gaping. Hux tested the waters in the most cowardly way, with eyes instead of mouth, silently willing the other boy to be braver than he.

The second semester of his second year, Hux finally engaged in the casual experimentation that was supposedly rife in the academy.

Hux proposed they watch a new holodrama, smuggled in by a classmate after the last holiday. They’d huddled together in Hux’s bunk, over the too-small hologram. Hux had leaned closer than necessary, until his flank was flush against the warmth next to him. Fifteen minutes of shallow breaths followed. Hux heard the words spoken by the buxom Twi'lek star, but he did not comprehend their meaning. His breath stopped entirely when he felt a hand creep onto his thigh, crawl slowly up his quadriceps, making its way toward the apex of his thighs. Hux kept his eyes focused on the images before him, willing himself to be still.  

A surprising wetness just below his earlobe broke Hux’s fragile facade. The kiss was sloppy with young enthusiasm; he leaned into it nonetheless. Eager lips sucked as if Hux were made of spun sugar, and a timid tongue, coated thick with saliva, darted forth to lave his sensitive skin. When the boy pulled back and the cool air hit the wetness, Hux turned with a shiver to see glistening lips looming inches from his face. It was easy to close his eyes and let what already could not be undone proceed. 

The holodrama was forgotten, and Hux shifted toward his partner. His bunk was too narrow for both to recline, so instead, Hux let himself be pulled to lay atop the other boy. Hux felt the quick, rhythmic expansion of the ribcage beneath him and, for once, was pleased that his slightness helped rather than hindered him. They were of a similar height, which allowed for a connection at both lips and hips.

Hux’s fingers skated along solid biceps to trace tendons from shoulder to neck. The boy held Hux’s narrow hips tight against his own, rutting up against him with a stuttering pace. When his breath became a heaving gasp, he rolled them to face each other, intertwining limbs to save space. Hux grappled at the boy’s waist for purchase and was surprised to feel slick skin under his palms. The boy’s pants had already been pushed around his knees, and he smoothed his hands over Hux’s hips to peel down the soft sleep pants he wore.

Hux had to brace himself on one arm to assist the removal. As he pulled back, he contorted in a way that provided the perfect view of his flushed pink cock. He didn’t have the opportunity to kick off the pants dangling from his ankles before the boy latched onto his cock with a clammy palm. Hux did not take it as a compliment when the boy gasped out how pretty his dick was.

He drew Hux in against his sweaty thighs, pressed him close enough to smell the musk of his skin. His inexpert hand wrapped around Hux, gathering them together. Hux fit neatly in the boy’s grip alongside his own, more substantial, member. His praise repeated again and again as he stroked them both—not small, not even mediocre, but pretty. The way he said it carried reverence, not the scorn Hux had been long hoping to hear.

Hux did not want to be the man with the pretty cock. Prettiness acknowledged his slender stature in a way that was wholly unappetizing. But his subconscious latched on to this compliment, rolling it around in the back of his mind until it warped into something wholly different. Soon prettiness became a dirty word, one that Hux could use against himself. He still thought of being shamed for his physical inadequacies, but the idea of being mocked for his prettiness, that was a vast new territory to explore.

He’d known, even at that young age, that these proclivities were considered unacceptable by most. He kept them carefully hidden. A longing for human touch led him to seek contact when he was at his most desperate, but he left each encounter unsatisfied. His preferred companion became his own hand, though even that felt like a despicable indulgence much of the time. He occasionally let himself slip, when the hour was late, and exhaustion gnawed through the tough fiber of his resolve. At those moments, he waded deep into the torrent of voices. Inadequate. Disappointing. Thoroughly underwhelming.

In the beginning, Kylo Ren had been no different from those regrettable couplings of his youth. He hadn’t even required Hux to bare himself completely, content to bend him over the nearest horizontal surface, enter him from behind. Hux had swatted his hand away when it snaked around; he preferred to settle for his own familiar grip. Kylo quickly learned not to touch. Hux retreated into personal fantasy, distancing himself from the physical sensation to get lost in the emotions always lurking in his own mind.

But even Kylo grew frustrated with the way Hux closed himself off. He demanded they do things properly. A bed. Bare skin. No pushing away.

* * *

Hux waits, mouth dry and fingers busy, toying with the edge of the sheet. The shadow Kylo casts when he returns seems larger than his already considerable frame. Bared of his robes, his biceps and pectorals bulge in a way that is imperceptible when clothed. The bed heaves as Kylo climbs on to it, squeaking and shifting in protest to the added weight. Kylo slowly pulls the sheet down Hux’s body, but Hux fingers reflexively grasp at it, stopping it just as it reveals the scattering of red hairs at the base of his abdomen.

Kylo gives him a quizzical look, which Hux returns by averting his eyes. If Kylo wanted to remove the sheet, he easily could. Instead he waits, moves his hands to rest on Hux’s, a hot pressure against his cold, damp skin. With a shaky exhale, Hux lets go. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, steeling himself for the inevitable awkwardness. Had he been able to react like a reasonable person to Kylo’s advances, he wouldn’t be in this position.

With the privacy of the sheet eliminated, Hux contracts under Kylo’s intent stare, though his cock, ever errant, begins to thicken. The dusky head peeks from the foreskin, and his translucent complexion reveals every blue vein on the shaft.

Long seconds drag before Kylo breaks the silence, asking, “What’s wrong?”

One side of Hux’s mouth draws into a grimace as he rolls his eyes. What was supposed to be a chance for Kylo to enjoy him properly has nearly soured, but Kylo doesn’t seem eager to abandon the endeavor.

“Are you ashamed of this?” Kylo asks, reaching to rub his thumb along the head, now fully exposed. Hux pulses at the mention of shame, a conditioned reflex at this point. Kylo holds Hux’s cock like it’s something delicate, like he might break it if his uses more than his index finger and thumb. He experimentally glides the foreskin along the shaft in a way that makes Hux question whether he’s ever seen an uncut cock before. They aren’t common in the Core Worlds, and Hux has had more than one partner view his foreskin with condescending distaste.

“No.” The petulant tone in Hux’s voice does not corroborate his claim. He tries to slip from Kylo’s grasp, but he’s held firm. Hux has had ample time for an out, if he wanted one. He could get up, leave, never reveal his deviancy.

“It’s not like I expected more. It suits you. Pink and so, so pretty.”

Hux bites back a moan at the mention of that impossible word.  

 “Let’s try this again, and I expect an honest answer. Are you ashamed of this?” Kylo’s expressive brown eyes widen to reveal his amusement.

“Yes,” Hux mumbles, with a meekness that doesn’t reflect the excitement building within. A chasm has opened between the man he was thirty seconds ago and the man now squirming under Kylo.

He’s spent nearly two decades with this need building, aching to be verbally acknowledged. He’s considered seeking relief, indulged in building elaborate plans he never carried through. He could have found some nameless stranger, told him just how to best lay on the disdain, but it wouldn’t have been any good if Hux had to orchestrate each phrase, each movement.

“Why?” Kylo knows how to press, no need for awkward instruction.

“...ts small.” It comes out like a hiccup, barely words. Kylo has finally wrapped Hux in his whole hand, and he squeezes with steady pulses. His smirk turns feral with his next statement.

“You know, I think I was bigger than this by the time I was twelve.” A bolt of arousal brings Hux’s hips forward to meet Kylo’s hand. 

“I barely knew how it worked at that point. I doubt you do either.” Hux’s head swims, and he buries it against his shoulder, eyes screwing shut. His whole body tenses at Kylo’s next jab.

“You can’t even look at me. Can’t form a full sentence. Worse than when I boy, really.” He doesn’t deny it, couldn’t even if he wanted to. Words are beyond Hux. He’s left with nothing but the hot shame flowing from Kylo’s mouth straight to his cock, which is nearly at the point of no return when Kylo abruptly releases him. After the warmth of Kylo’s hand, the air hits him like a douse of icy water. His forehead lines with discomfort.

“If you’re going to behave like a boy, I’m going to treat you like one. And a boy needs a man to teach him, doesn’t he?”

At that pronouncement, Kylo kneels up, still straddling Hux’s legs. With the way Hux is propped against the headboard, Kylo’s cock is nearly eye-level. It’s the perfect vantage point for his lesson, leaving no room for Hux to feign modesty.

Kylo takes his own cock in hand and encourages Hux, “See if you can follow along.”

Hux tentatively encircles himself, gritting his teeth to hold back. He’s so sensitive that the mere brush of his fingers has him writhing. It won’t take long, just a few strokes. Kylo has set him up for the most juvenile of failures.

“Not like that. Hold it properly,” Kylo chides.

“It’ll be different for you, because of your size.” Kylo demonstrates the proper grasp, holding the tip of his dick. It looks outlandish, that enormous hand teasing just the last few inches. When Hux has all five fingers properly arranged, Kylo nods for him to continue.

Hux feels the tensing in his testicles, and his hand moves with syncopated strokes. Kylo eyes flick from Hux’s cock to his face, assessing his form. It’s still too short, too loose, Hux knows. The consistent thrust of Kylo’s hips creates a tremor that ripples down to where his thighs constrict Hux’s legs. Hux finds his hand following the rhythm Kylo sets for all of ten strokes before he gasps out his orgasm.

Strands of pearlescent fluid coat his milk-white stomach, and he rides out his climax with a last lingering squeeze. Hux is aware of a distant voice, muffled by the blood pummeling his ears. It notes, “Didn’t last more than a minute my first time, but you’ll learn.” 

When Hux’s haze clears, he notices Kylo’s posture is starting to slouch, and his chest is slick with sweat. A ruddiness that doesn’t suit his olive complexion has spread across his neck and chin. The once measured strokes become erratic, breath discharging in short puffs. He manages to gasp out, “Keep your hand moving ‘til I’m done.” Hux thanks the stars Kylo isn’t holding back.

A whine, low and pitiful, accompanies Hux’s continued contact with his oversensitive cock. It’s a complaint he wouldn’t get away with if Kylo weren’t otherwise occupied. This bliss when the first spurts of come hit his chin, when he’s allowed to let his penis flop against his abdomen, is remarkable. Kylo doesn’t bother to aim, and Hux’s cheek and chest get equal shares. Once he’s milked himself, he slides his palm against Hux’s cheek, up to fist his hair. Hux prickles at the feeling of the sticky fluid drying on his skin.

Kylo looks satisfied with the mess he’s made. His chest is still heaving as he collapses and rolls into place beside Hux. Hux expected him to get up, clean himself off, and take his leave. He didn’t anticipate a forearm wrapped around his midsection and a head burrowing into his armpit. Speech still slurred with the aftermath of his orgasm, Kylo warns, “Next time, we do this right.”

“How?” Hux knows he must be a pathetic sight, red and sticky and desperate, but he queries nonetheless, unsure to which of the multitude of wrongs Kylo is referring.

“You need to take better care of that little cock, practice until you’re perfect.”

The idea a continued regimen is unexpected, yet utterly appealing.

* * *

Kylo’s idea of taking care involves talcum powder, a razor, and several pairs of white briefs. They’re the kind every child wears until they’re old enough to feel self-conscious about their clothing choices. Hux wore them longer than most, having had little say in matters of sartorial expression until after he left the academy.

The expectation that he would need not one but multiple pairs of these childish underpants makes Hux a bit light headed. Upon receiving the supplies, he make space for them in the bottom of a locking casket, in the back of a cupboard. No one enters Hux’s quarters other than maintenance droids. Perhaps he hides them from himself.

Though the notion of his assigned self-care nags, Hux waits until his next extended rest period to complete the task. He needs time to do it right, and there’s no point in rushing when he’s waited so long to get here. Hux mastered the ability to delay his gratification years ago, but he isn’t immune to the drag of time. He eyes the prize appearing over the horizon and notes it getting a little bigger every day. In this case, his anxiety normalizes the temporal impact of anticipation, and it takes just as long as expected to arrive.

His heart palpitates as he carries the casket to the refresher, sets it down on the ceramic countertop. The dark grey metal looks out of place amongst all the stark white fixtures. He takes a moment to run his fingers over the ribbed exterior before releasing the lock, the borderline between leisurely enjoyment and active procrastination imperceptible.

Hux doesn’t necessarily need to use the razor Kylo provided. It’s standard issue, the same kind he uses each morning, but it feels right to use the tools given.

The steam of the shower exacerbates the heady feeling that develops in Hux as he lathers between his legs. A stream of little red hairs flows down the drain like a rivulet of blood. He goes once with the grain and once against before trailing his fingers over every inch, hunting for stray hairs.

His cock has swells in response to the idea that hangs over the procedure, that he is doing this for Kylo, becoming a better boy for Kylo. It’s grooming he’s never felt the need to engage in before. Keeping himself neat and trimmed was one thing, but recreating his prepubescence is a territory that he hadn’t been willing to enter without encouragement.

Satisfied with his effort, Hux allows himself release before he finishes his shower. Once he’s toweled dry, he inspects himself in the mirror. The divergence between the physical reality of his body and the image in his head is stronger than ever. With his now soft cock, he looks sublimely boyish, but in a way that is a mockery of childhood. Hux’s stature is still that of an adult male, and the incongruity between his long legs and bare abdomen is unnerving. When he applies the medicinal smelling powder, it enhances the feeling of wrongness.

The five sets of underpants are identical, but he lifts each one before selecting the pair he will wear to meet Kylo. The last he holds appears to possess a crisper whiteness than the rest, so he pulls them on, up over knobby knees and narrow hips. The fit is tight, and Hux isn’t sure if Kylo intentionally underestimated his girth or really believes him to be this size. The fabric is already thin, and stretched tight across his rear, they are nearly translucent, clearly revealing the meager outline of his flaccid cock.

Hux turns back to the mirror and hesitantly raises his eyes. He forces himself to hold his own gaze; feeling brazenly remade. Hux never believed himself to be a whole man, and now he’s even farther from the ideal. But he’d rather be whatever creature Kylo aims to make of him a dozen times over than try to press his rough edges into that rigid mold.

* * *

Kylo is a raised eyebrow and a crooked smirk when Hux joins him. He’s sprawled in a chair more deep than wide, and his legs stretch out before him, one booted foot crossed over the other. Hux hears the door latch behind him before he realizes he’s crossed the threshold. An incline of Kylo’s chin beckons him closer.

The flooring is the same industrial grey as the rest of the base, but it seems to ripple with patterns as Hux watches it move under his feet. He makes it the few paces to the chair and waits.

“Well,” Kylo inquires.

Hux shifts. Kylo chuckles, a sound balanced between amusement and scorn.

“Show me if you’ve earned a second chance to play with that pathetic cock.”

Hux dawdles a moment too long for Kylo’s patience.

“Show. Me. On your knees,” Kylo enunciates, as if he really is talking to a young boy, rather slow on the uptake.

Hux reaches down with stiff fingers and fumbles with the buttons on his pants. When each infuriating button is finally resolved, he pushes his pants down and kneels with little grace. The bunched fabric forms a makeshift padding between his kneecaps and the hard floor.

Kylo smiles, baring each sharp, white tooth. “So pretty, aren’t you?”

That word again, the one that brings forth painful remembrance of awkward lust. Hux swallows, fidgets, tries to find a suitable position to rest his hands.

“Those suit you, but I want to see my boy bare.”

Hux hooks his thumbs under the tight elastic waistband of the briefs. They are slightly damp and stick to his skin. He inches them down far enough to expose himself. With most of his body is still clothed, his rigid cock bobbing in the air presents an especially debauched image.

Kylo licks his lips, like he’s preparing to consume a treat reserved for a very special occasion. His feet uncross, and the right extends to rest lightly on top of Hux’s groin. He waits a moment, cold eyes searching, and when Hux makes no reaction, grinds his heel into the smooth skin of Hux’s pelvis, trapping his little cock. The instant urge to pull back is smothered by the zing of arousal that clenches deep in his stomach. A pull away from the foot becomes a push toward it, and Kylo increases the pressure. One of Kylo’s hands grips the arm of his chair, fingers making divots in the twill synthfiber. The other cups the tent in his pants and lazily massages.

Hux is stifled by the heat of his shirt; deep gasps of pain crossed with pleasure threaten to burst through his chest. His wrists plant behind him, aching from supporting the weight of his straining body. Just as the pain nears the unbearable, Kylo let’s off. The boot settles back before him, a mundane object again, no longer a weapon.

“Has your technique improved?” Kylo asks.

Hux wraps his fingers around his leaking cock at this implied request for action. The show of long strokes that Kylo prefers is contrary to the hurried method Hux uses in private, but he tries to imitate the example Kylo set during their prior encounter. His hand feels foreign and his strokes stutter. Anxiety nips at his arousal.

Kylo looks down with hooded eyes. “Come here. Let me help you.”

Hux pushes himself up, teeters forward with mincing steps rather than remove the pants constricting his movement. He tumbles into Kylo’s lap, and Kylo supports him as he shifts into position. The chair was not designed to accommodate two adult men, so Hux hunkers against Kylo’s chest. His legs dangle over the arm of the chair, and one hand scrabbles at Kylo’s shoulder for support. The warmth of Kylo’s hard cock presses into his exposed backside.

Kylo runs his hand down Hux’s arm and presses his palm against the back of Hux’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He draws them to Hux’s flagging erection and circles it loosely. His thick thumb extends to teases the foreskin that now droops, partially covering the head. Kylo turns his head to Hux’s neck and whispers, “Most boys have this cut when they’re too young to remember. You want me to help make you a better boy, fix your pretty little cock just the way I like it.”

Hux’s lungs seize at the suggestion, and he can’t quite fill them with enough oxygen. He thrashes, trying to process the notion. He’s always desired this but never allowed it—to be subjected to another man’s cruel caprices. Kylo squeezes Hux’s fine bones in his broad hand and helps guide his movements.

Kylo murmurs, soft and sweet, disparaging observations about Hux’s boyish body mixed with affirmations about how perfect he’ll be, if he just accepts the help he needs. Boys can’t be expected to know the sorts of thing Kylo can school him in, but Kylo is patient, willing. Hux thinks he could try to be that perfect boy, for Kylo.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk about humiliation fic with me on [Tumblr](http://sinnotalone.tumblr.com).


End file.
